the only proof that i need is you
by loved in shades of wrong
Summary: "I love you. That's not going to change."


**I want to thank the people who reviewed, favoured and alerted(?) my first Oliver/Felicity fic because it makes me feel the warm fuzzies. But I especially want to thank quisinart4 for your kind encouragement and great enthusiasm when I mentioned writing another one, and it was fun chatting with you!**

**There's no real plot here. Also, writing in Felicity's voice is so fun.**

So she knows she should be panicking. Especially since she can't see a thing - and not because she doesn't have her glasses. But she just knows. She knows that Oliver will find her and save her. And yeah, it's the twenty-first century and women are done being the damsel in distress, but she's in quite a pickle. It's dark and it smells weird and she's pretty sure something died in here.

It's not even her fault. Well, okay, it's _kind of_ her fault. However, it's mostly Oliver's.

So. It's a majority of his fault, therefore it's his responsibility to come here and save her.

They've been together for years and she knows he's got some super powers or something. Surely he can pick up her anguished telepathic signals from here.

Right? _Right?_

* * *

She hears movement somewhere and sits up straighter, the hair tie she's been playing with accidentally flinging across the room in her haste.

"Hello?" she calls. "Is anyone there?" She feels so stupid. What if it was just her imagination? Her starvation is causing hallucinations. Oliver's not coming; he's never coming. She gasps quietly. _What if something happened to him?_ She doesn't know what she'll do. Even if she ever gets out of this alive.

Light floods up through the hole and illuminates the immediate vicinity of the attic hole. "Felicity?"

A breath escapes her and her eyes fall shut in relief. "_Yes_! Please help me!"

"Where are you?" Oliver calls, a tinge of anxiousness coating his words that has her heart constricting. Or maybe it's her stomach. She hasn't eaten since lunch. Also, _what time is it_?

She scrambles over to the hole. "Up here!"

Oliver appears next to the fallen ladder and looks up, his mouth twisted. (She's pretty sure to hide his smile.) "What are you doing?"

"Putting away your dumb 'secret' action figures."

"I told you to wait for me," he says on a laugh.

She doesn't like it. She hopes her glare is just as effective from up here.

He clears his throat and drives a palm over the top of his head.

"It's been sitting by the kitchen for days now. I am plenty capable of carrying the boxes to the attic, and just because you have money doesn't mean you don't have to do anything as simple as washing your clothes. It's called being humble."

"Hey, that was one time. _I broke my arm_," he defends. "Jenny was nice enough to offer, and I accepted. What's so bad about neighbours helping each other out?"

Her blood runs cold at the mention of _Jenny_. "When the neighbour is a twenty-something year old who prances around practically _naked_ whenever you're around, and when that same twenty-something year old was handling your _underwear_!"

"Are you jealous."

She makes an indignant sound and slams a hand on the wooden attic floor. And then winces.

His face falls, wiping the smirk from his face. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy," she replies snippily, falling back on her butt so she doesn't have to see his worrying face in case her irritation melts away and therefore let him get away with another argument.

Metal starts scratching against each other as he straightens the ladder. His voice growing louder as the steps creak under his weight while he climbs up. "How long have you been up there?"

"A few hours. Or at least feels like it," she admits begrudgingly.

"Why didn't you call me?" His head pops up and he surveys the attic before his blue eyes fall on her (she's sure) dishevelled self. "Or Digg?" (Thea seems to believe that she has both men wrapped around her finger. They spend day and night running Queen Consolidated and racing around the city catching bad guys, respectively. Oliver and Diggle are her best friends. They have an equal three-way relationship. That came out wrong. They are three friends who have equal say and rights within that _friendship_. And on top of that, Oliver and she are in an exclusive, healthy and fair relationship. As in boyfriend/girlfriend. She'd hardly call them her "bitches".)

"How stupid do you think I am? Of course I thought of that, and I would have if I hadn't left my phone down there." She closes her eyes when it filters through her brain how mean she's being. "I'm sorry," she grimaces. "I'm just really tired and hungry and it smells up here." She takes a whiff for good measure and then sneezes when she accidentally inhales some soot floating about from Oliver's sudden movements.

"I can handle it." He pulls himself the rest of the way up and perches himself on the floor next to her. "It's pretty dusty up here," he comments, wiping his hands on his tailored jeans.

She frowns at that, but before she can admonish him, an ugly screeching sound shoots throughout the condo, piercing her ears, before a loud bang reverberates from below. They quickly crawl over to the scuttle hole to find the ladder broken in large pieces on the nice mahogany floor. "Crap."

"Don't panic," Oliver says, a hand squeezing her arm comfortingly before he throws his legs over the edge.

"Oliver!" she yelps, grabbing onto his bicep to pull him back, with no luck. The man weighs a ton.

"It's okay. I'll just jump down and fix the ladder before putting it back up for you to get down."

She tugs on him again. "What if you get hurt?"

He tilts his head to the side and gives her a '_Really?_' look.

"Right." _He can jump from roof to roof while getting shot at (or worse) almost nightly_._ What's a little ceiling diving?_ "Okay. Be careful."

He nods once before lowering himself until he's dangling from the ceiling. She can only imagine his shirt riding up and his muscles flexing everywhere. What she would give to be watching him from the bottom.

_Focus, Felicity._

She holds her breath when he lets go, only letting it out after he lands safely with a silent crouch next to the ladder.

"Fuck."

"What?" she says, alarmed.

"The little metal part connecting the ladder's snapped. Thing's pretty much useless," he observes, inspecting the ladder.

"Wha- How am I supposed to get down!"

He looks up at her intensely and frowns slightly (his thinking face) before holding out his arms, motioning for her with his fingers.

"Are you _crazy_!? I'm not jumping down!"

"Felicity," he replies, in his most patient you-are-being-ridiculous-but-I'm-too-chicken-to-te ll-you-because-I-want-sex voice. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." It comes out immediately and automatically despite her trembling form. She kind of feels proud of herself for the smile that paints its way beautifully across his face.

"Then jump. I'll catch you."

She takes a deep breath and then coughs. "Okay," she chokes out. Carefully maneuvering herself, she dangles her legs over the edge and grips the wood around her thighs, positioning herself like he did earlier. "Don't look up my dress!"

Oliver's full blown laugh reaches her ears and she cautiously leans forward to look sternly at him. _She_ had_ to feel girly and put on a flowy dress today_.

"Felicity, I've seen you naked." He leers at her legs before winking cheekily.

"_I know_," she says pointedly. "What if you get distracted and I hit the ground?" She jabs down at him, aiming for his little head. "I could die. Or worse: people will think you're abusive - I bruise easily, y'know."

He drops his arms and breathes out of his nose. "I won't let you hurt yourself. I promise I'll catch you."

"Okay. Okay. Okayokayokayokay."

"Felicity!"

"_Oh-kay_! Sheesh." _It's like ripping off a band-aid_. She stalls, shuffling forward a few inches. _Just do it_.

"C'mon baby, you can do it," he mutters.

_Quick and easy_. There's a loud bang and she jumps, her hands slipping and her eyes slam shut as she slinks through the square hole, shrieking the whole way down (_Oh god, I'm gonna die! Oh god, ohgodoh_shit) until she lands with an 'oof' in Oliver's warm, strong arms. (When her heart drops from her throat back to where it belongs and her brain catches up, she realises that the bang was Oliver kicking the ladder to the side.)

"You okay?" It comes out forced, and she pries her eyes open to see he's holding back laughter.

"Fine. Thanks." She kicks her legs slightly because she's almost positive that the back of her dress is bunched around his arm and that her ass is showing. He places her on her shaky legs, but she doesn't let go of his neck.

"Let's get you something to eat," he says softly when her stomach complains loudly, brushing a thumb across her cheekbone.

* * *

Felicity is munching happily on her burger when she almost dies from her last bite.

"Slow down," Oliver chuckles, handing her the cup of soda with one hand while the other rubs in soothing circles on her back. "It's not going anywhere."

She takes the cup and slowly sips from it when she manages to stop herself from trying to hack up her lungs, the liquid relieving her burning throat. She covers her mouth during the remnants of her coughing fit in a feeble attempt to latch onto the last crumb of her already sparse dignity.

He's watching her when she sheepishly turns her attention to him, his eyes dancing with a colourful shade of mirth and concern.

"Don't judge me," she jokes weakly.

He shakes his head swiftly and steadily. "I would never."

"… Cool," she says lamely, not at all expecting the earnesty in his reply.

She picks her burger back up, about to take a bite when he starts, "About earlier…"

"Yes, I squealed like a girl, okay? But I'm allowed. I _am_ a girl."

"No, earlier than that. About Jenny."

She puts her burger down again, suddenly not hungry anymore, and stares across the counter at the fridge to avoid his gaze. She figured that being insecure almost your whole life would make you more immune to the feeling over time, or even teach you that comparing yourself to other girls is never a good idea. She figured wrong.

"I had no idea you didn't like her. Did she say something to you?"

It used to unnerve her that he can sit so still for long amounts of time. Now she finds comfort in it. He's sturdy and reliable, like her own shield. "No."

"Do something?"

From the corner of her eye, she regards him. Should she be worried that he hasn't blinked in a while? "No."

"Then what?"

"She didn't do or say anything. I just…"

He places a hand over her fidgeting ones, pushing firm enough for her to stop.

"She's just really, _really_ pretty." Mortification washes over her and she tries to pull her hands away to cover her face, but he only pushes down harder while his other hand grips her chin, tilting her face up and facing him. She stares at his forehead until he shakes her head lightly, his thumb rubbing the middle of her chin. She sighs and drags her gaze to look into his perturbed ones. "She just makes more sense."

He frowns and the corners of his mouth tips down. "What do you mean?"

"With you. It makes more sense for you to be with someone like her instead of…" She looks down at herself: her dress is filthy and rumpled from being cramped up in the attic for _two hours_, her… chest area isn't very impressive, her limbs and most definitely her face and neck are covered in grime, her glasses are coated with smudges from her earlier attempt at cleaning the dust off, and her hair feels gross. "Me."

She didn't know how he'd react, but it certainly didn't involve him pushing away from her. She can't help it when her breathing stutters at the loss of contact, and she drags her restless hands into her lap. She swallows down the urge to cry.

"Sometimes I imagine that one day you'll wake up and wonder why you settled with someone like me when you can turn around and find groups of more glamorous women for you to choose from." She should probably shut up right now because when she peeks a look at him he looks kind of angry, and her talking is exactly like poking a bear. A big, scary, tattooed bear.

"She's not my type," he finally says.

"She's exactly your type," she quickly retaliates. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

"Okay, she was the old Oliver's type," he concedes. "But I don't know him anymore. _You're_ my type. Settling is not at all how I'd describe being with you; you are more than good enough, Felicity. You're gorgeous and funny and _smart_, something a lot of those 'glamorous' girls aren't. One thing I found was that they have one thing in common: none of those girls can make me feel the way you do. But I didn't choose you - if anything, _you_ chose_ me_, and I'm completely honoured by and in love with that. To think that someone like you would pick some rich boy with a major personality shift who does nothing but play pretend hero at night… You chose me to spend your precious time with. I'm lucky." He's breathing heavily by the time he's done and she stares, wide eyed at him. "Say something."

"I think this is the most you've spoken in one sitting." She blinks owlishly.

He laughs deeply, driving his hand through her hair to cup the back of her head. "I think this is the quietest you've been in one sitting." He slouches down the same time he tilts her head back, and pushes his mouth against hers. A thick smacking sounds throughout the kitchen when he pulls back. "I love you. That's not going to change."

She's about to say something most likely embarrassing before he covers her lips again, deepening the kiss with his hand still entangled in her hair. His other hand slithers around her waist and tugs her until she slides off the stool, standing between his legs. She kisses him back just as thoroughly, gripping his wrists. Under her palms she can feel his pulse beating erratically, and she clutches him tighter, trying to absorb the rhythm for her own heartbeat to match it.

He pulls away slightly and manages to mumble against her, "Are we good?"

"Good, great, perfect. Jusskissme," she murmurs back breathlessly, her breath stuttering when he growls, pulling her closer to him.

"I need you," he says, voice low and gravelly and oh so sexy.

"I'm really dirty." At his absolute predatorily smirk, she quickly adds, "Hygienically."

"Two birds."

* * *

The front door slams and echoes into the bathroom, following a voice singing, "City of Smoaking Hotness."

"Thea?" Felicity pops her head out of the crack between the bathroom door and frame, the cool air in the condo a refreshing contrast from the hot and steamy bathroom. "I told you not to call me that." Holding her towel close to her body, she squints to find Little Queen herself standing with her arms akimbo, posing in the middle of the hallway like she's on her own fashion runway.

She grins excitedly when she spots her and practically starts skipping over. "Why not? It's clever. I have to tell you something! Roy-"

"Speedy, what are you doing here?" Oliver says, pushing himself against her back and pulling the door wider to take a peek at his sister. She tries to push him back with her butt, but that only encourages him to push himself against her more.

Thea's face drains before she makes a disgusted face and her whole body cripples with a shudder that seems to rake her from head to toe. "_Awh, man_!_ Gross_!"

Felicity scratches her nose before jabbing her elbow into Oliver's stomach. He doesn't budge; just chuckles and dives his face into her wet hair. "What happened with Roy?" she asks Thea, trying to ignore his sneaky hand rubbing the skin above the edges of her towel.

Thea pulls a face and pushes her palms out, as if trying to push them away without physically having to. "I'll tell you later. Call me when you're… finished. Eck." She gives her a meaningful look before sprinting back out of the condo.

A beat of complete silence sneaks by before Felicity bursts out a bubble of laughter. "We might've scarred her."

He spins her around and slides his arms around the middle of her back. "She's a Queen; she'll survive."

"Round two?" She pecks the side of his jaw.

"Round _three_," he growls.

She gasps when he gropes her firmly and her towel opens, falling limply between them. Wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, she anticipates his kiss when a loud ringing suddenly sounds throughout the condo, and she groans disappointedly.

_Damn it, Diggle_.

* * *

When they walk out the door side-by-side, Jenny _conveniently_ struts out in her sports bra and workout shorts (at 11:46pm, mind you. See? She's not making this up). Oliver reaches for her hand and pushes the back of her palm against his lips, never taking his eyes off her. She's pretty sure he didn't notice the other girl yet.

"Hey," Jenny chirps.

"Hi Jenny!" Felicity says merrily.

"Hello Oliver."

"Hi." He lifts his head in a greeting, the same way he always does when Jenny addresses him. It's like putting on her glasses after searching for it through their blurry bedroom; everything is clear and pretty. She had nothing to worry about all along, because Oliver loves her, and Jenny's just some girl.

As he pulls her over to the elevator, she says something about yoghurt after and he chuckles softly, tugging her into his side until his lips meet the side of her head.


End file.
